Loans, grants, overdrafts and being poor

After a two hour long session in a lecture room next to a guy who reverted to the technique of copying down every word that I wrote rather than using his brain, and a student behind me who was determined to beat out the introduction to Phil Collins hit song 'In the air tonight' on the back of my chair every five seconds, I can't say I'm feeling ecstatic about university life at the moment. However, even at this very moment as I feast on crappy canteen food and dry cheerios  I am still paying to go to these lecture rooms that consist of students slumped on chairs pretending to listen to the lecture while they doodle and throw things at each other, a lecturer nearly crying with the passion of his subject and the occasional question and answer time.

Yep. I'm living the high life.

Anyway, today, after trudging back to the Waterfront office, and deliberating whether to trip up the student in front of me, (it was the one who had kicked my pelvis out of place during our lecture,) I decided that it was finally time to pay off my internet bills for my shiny new house and, of course, for my room in my shiny new house.

It cost me just over a grand.

A GRAND. A whole load of money that big just... POOF! Gone in a flash. I had tears of pain in my eyes as I clicked the button to confirm that, yes, I was actually going to give away all that money and no, I wasn't going to change my mind, just so I don't have to sleep in a cardboard box.

And with that sum of money in mind, I wouldn't object to the box right now.

 

www.funnyjunk.com

Now, I know that I don't have it as bad as some students do. I guess I could say that I'm rather lucky with the fact that my parents decided to have me when they did. A year later, and I'd be facing tuition fees of about £9,000. (We'll ignore the fact that I'm Welsh and that my government is purely awesome for the next few minutes)

Last year, as you may well know, (Hi Stalkers!) I started my education at Swansea University. The school talk about student finance seemed a long time ago then - it was way back in July at the end of year 12 and for some reason, it was scheduled for a Friday afternoon, which had followed a week of 'learning'. I can assure you that I was not prepared to listen to somebody coming in from Glamorgan University to reel off a pre-prepared and over-rehearsed speech about university and, 'more importantly' student finance. As she rambled on, my mind, and most of the minds of those around me, drifted to fresher's fortnight, the parties, the alcohol, the societies, the alcohol, meeting new people and possibly finding a bit of independence, (which I am yet to find.)

I vaguely remember being told to apply for my student loan as soon as I had decided which university I wanted to go to and which course I wanted to do. Unfortunately, I didn't listen to a word and I was stuck at the last minute, panicking, trying to remember which bits to fill out and what to put down. Fortunately, my mother is an accountant, (and a damn good one at that), and filled it out for me in ten minutes flat, while making my dinner - the women is a domestic goddess.

Then, I had to change my current bank account to a student one. On this occasion, my dear mother dragged me out of my room, away from my Friends box set and into the bank on NatWest to partake in what I assumed would be a ten minute job. Actually, I turned out to be there for at least an hour, what with my easily distracted persona marvelling at the bank advisers hair and thick welsh accent and the fact that at least a ton of information was being thrown at me about saving accounts, debit cards, overdrafts, all on top of the actual current account. It makes my head spin to think about it now - I wisely passed on my money issues to my mother.

So now, my purse is brimming with cards for this, and that and everything else, and I feel like a business women. Well, on the outside anyway. On the inside, I'm worried about remembering my bank details and wishing it could be a tad easier, especially for me, being a History student and all. (We're very easily confused.) The only thing I did look forward to was getting a free railcard. The disappointment I felt when discovering that NatWest had scrapped that perk of the deal is symbolised in the phone bill my mother used up telling them how useless they were.

Unlike most fresher's, I didn't budget and I actually survived my first year. Like a true student, my finance outgoings were decided on unplanned impulsivity. Now I'm in my second year and looking at the seriously depleting rates of my bank account, I can't help but worry about how I will survive off chocolate animal biscuits again at my grand old age of 20... nearly...

NatWest provides it's answer to my problem with a piece of plastic, called a 'credit card' and a scam to take all my money known as an 'overdraft.'

Handy isn't it?

The tuition fees of over three grand that I pay each year was a lot for me to take in. I've never even seen a fifty pound note, so you can imagine how it blew my mind that universities wanted to take all this money from me that I didn't have. I can only imagine how the incoming fresher takes the news that they have to pay up to £9,000 a year to not attend the lectures and seminars that they're supposed to, but to spend the year drinking their livers into a state of shock and living off takeaways.

This is where the beauty of the 'student loan' comes in. Taking out a student loan for university is like indentured servitude. You will be paying your way to freedom for the rest of your life. You'll soon be living off cereal, (like me), and craving some protein or meat or... well, anything other than cereal. Basically, if you're going to take out a loan, do so wisely - make sure your parents are loaded or that you take out a subscription to online bingo.

But, it can sort of help you out during the poorest time of your life. I genuinely don't think I'd be alive right now, if it weren't for my student loan. With my inability to get a job, the lack of jobs and rent to pay, food to buy and alcohol to purchase and consume to drown out my money worries, my student loan is absolutely vital to my continued existence. While I wish I didn't have to depend so heavily on the government, (especially because it's English), I have to pass on my heartfelt thanks for keeping me alive for so long.

Perhaps I'm worrying too much. I've managed my finances rather well when I've accumulated money in the past, so coping with the virtual money that is now lingering around should be relatively easy. Learning to budget may or may not come in time but until then, pop tarts and animal biscuits should see me through this semester. And if I'm coping, (ish) I assure you that the rest of the student population will most definitely survive.  

Just don't ask me how - I'll let you know when I figure it out. 

Student loans video <---- Watch this - It'll make your poor, empty student lives way more interesting! 

Welcome to Carnage - Alcohol, dressing up and sexism

Today, as I was informed by my handy iPhone 4s that I hadn't written a blog in near enough to ten days, I let out a sigh of agitation and proceeded to throw it the length of the room (I'M JOKING MOTHER). I am very sorry that I haven't updated in these last ten days or more - I'm sure you've all been going out of your minds with boredom, especially the few who have emailed me in the last week to tell me you've bookmarked my blog in your favourites as a subtle hint - (I'm touched guys, but maybe it's time to turn the computer off now and do something else with your lives). The point is, I'm back, my internet isn't playing up quite as bad anymore, and I've finally finished my work to a mediocre standard, which means I have more time to doss around.

Anyway, today after I picked my phone up off my sofa and sobbed a truly heartfelt apology, I finally took some notice of the flyers that my housemates have decided to stick to the walls. (This is done in the vain hope that we'll entice each other to go to these events throughout the year, which will be dominated by the typical 'Fresher'.) I soaked up all the information like the wonderful student I am, and couldn't believe it when I read that the carnage theme of 'Pimps and Hoes' was actually happening. There was me thinking that my boyfriend had been lying to me!

Slag'n'Drag. Geeks and Sluts. CEOs and Corporate Hoes. Golf pros and tennis hoes. Ah - I see that Fresher's week hasn't diminished after its ending last week- It's returned with a gusto of sexism. How interesting.

The most notorious and debauched student pub crawl takes place tomorrow night. Hundreds of Freshies will be taking to the streets of Swansea to participate - unashamedly stumbling around, kissing on the streets, reeking of vodka shots and behaving as their usual drink and disorderly selves. Female students will more than likely be wearing little other than bras and miniskirts with suspenders as they adhere to the fancy dress code of prostitutes, while male students will be wearing the typical glasses and full on suits that make your eyes water.

All this for ten pounds? Thank God I'm not going!

In all seriousness, it has raised a fair bit of controversy this week in the national news. The sexual objectification that the 'Pimps and Hoes' theme trivialises is something that I am against, which is why I'm not going. I know that we students like a laugh, a kebab at 3am and a good ol' fashioned piss up to proceed it, but even I think this is taking it a tad too far. And frankly, I'm always so far past the line, that it's a dot to me.

Let's look at it this way; a 2010 study conducted by everyone's favourite free-stuff-giving organisation, the NUS, showed that out of a nationwide sample of 2000 female students, 14% had been physically or sexually assaulted, 68% were subjected to sexual harassment and nearly 15% had experience unwanted sexual contact during their time at university. Given that bundle of statistics, maybe it's time for carnage to come up with a new theme.

I think that it's perfectly possible that the intention is light-hearted, and I hear all the people out there shouting that it's only fancy dress and that, (and yes, I've seriously read this argument), you're only young once, but it's scary to consider that a bunch of fresh faced, over enthusiastic and highly intoxicated students are being sent a message based on sexual devaluation. Male students are made to believe that they are powerful, intelligent and talented with titles following successful lines, while female students are led to believe that they are the subjects of their sexual desires. Sorry lads, but I'm far more than a sexual desire - I'm a woman with (semi) intelligent thoughts, (half hearted) feelings and fantastic sandwich making abilities. And I don't feel like being some sort of sexual object. Thanks, but no thanks.

Adam Gray/ SWNS.com

Ladies, let's get this straight. You don't have to participate! Like I said, I'm glad I'm not going. I don't really see the attraction paying ten pounds of wearing a pair of short shorts that I -

1) Don't own

2) Will cost me money I don't have

and 3) will (undoubtedly) proudly put my thunder thighs and cheeks on display for drunken lads to grab at. I don't own any fishnet stockings, corsets or a black hat to round off the whole assemble either, (if I had enough clothes on to call it that) and, I think that, like any other girl, I would have to have a hell of a lot of alcohol in my system to feel good about myself when dressed like a prostitute. I can walk around my room at home on any old day in just my underwear for free. So, I think I'll pass on that event.

What I want to know is what happened to the good, clean and fun carnages that we had last year? All I was expected to do was dress up as a nurse, a cavewoman and a policewoman  In that order. I can admit that some female students took pleasure in sexualising these somewhat innocent forms of dress, but I didn't. I'll be honest - I wore about fifty layers Dad. Scratch that, I wore a full on burka. I promise.

Adam Gray/ SWNS.com

I swear to God that last year, Carnage was promoted as an event where you got to meet people. I didn't meet anyone I particularly liked, if I'm perfectly honest, (bar a lovely hobo named Jonathan), and I can't imagine meeting anyone I'd want to make lifelong friends with after showing them more flesh than my mother has seen of me for years. The nice friends that my family so desperately craves me to find this year will not be found while I am wearing next to nothing.

This theme of 'Pimps and Hoes' has brought so much in to light - newspapers and blogs especially have been ranting about the sexual objectification of women and, as a result, the fad that is 'slut dropping' has been brought to the forefront of our attention.

Slut dropping is literally one of the most disgusting things I think I've ever read about. The idea, my clean minded, innocent friends, is to drive around town with friends in the early hours of the morning in the pursuit of offering a lift home to a woman that they deem as a 'slut' - (this is usually someone who is stumbling, drunk and all of the other things I described the young fresher's to be as of tomorrow night.) After asking her address, they drive as fast and as far as possible in the opposite direction, before forcing the women out of the car and filming her as they drive away. While there has only been one reported event of it, it's disturbing, we can't deny it.

Then again, who gets into a strangers car, drunk or sober?  

Thank God for the women's officer who gave me a brand new free rape alarm this week. Can't say I'm loving the faulty pin on it that made it go off at around 5am this morning, prompting me to think I was actually being raped but, the idea is there and my safety is intact. (IGNORE THE IRONY!)

All I'm trying to say with this blog is that women shouldn't be objectified in an event where the sole purpose is to drink yourself into a stupor that will undoubtedly still be hanging around  a week later. I'm not saying that female students shouldn't go out and enjoy themselves because 1) That would make me a hypocrite and 2) I would lost at least half of my blog readership. Women should be able to go out, get drunk and do whatever the hell they like. YOU ARE FREE WOMEN! But dressed as prostitutes? Well, that's a whole other kettle of fish...